


Full Service

by xDx



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek would be so different if his family lived, Hales Live, Human!Derek, M/M, PWP, almost pwp, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 12:21:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xDx/pseuds/xDx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles didn't think there was anything of interest about the Hale & Sons Cleaning Company that Sheriff Dad hired.</p>
<p>Stiles is, occasionally, wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Full Service

Every two weeks, like clockwork, the Stilinskis scheduled an appointment with Hale & Sons Cleaning Company on Monday afternoons. Ever since Mom died four years ago, Dad had hired the crew because--let’s face it, one grown man and his teenage son are not the most neat duo. Not that Stiles was a slob, no, he preferred to think of it as “organized chaos” (or, as Dad refers to it, “Stiles, it looks like a tornado came through here, please son, at least pretend you were raised better”).

Mostly, Stiles didn’t see the crew--only really knew they’d come when he could see his floor and his bed was remade with new sheets. To be honest, he had no idea there was anything interesting at all about Hale & Sons, except maybe that the only Hale he’d ever met was Laura who was, presumably, not a Son.

As Stiles slowed to a jog, sweat dripping down his back and under his tank top, he noticed the cleaning crew van outside his house. He shrugged it off--today was a holiday from school, and basically the only time he’d ever been home for the appointment. Outside the front door, he jogged in place and finished his cool-down with a few stretches.

As he pushed open the door, he used his old lacrosse practice tank to quickly mop the sweat from his brow. “I’m home!” Stiles yelled in the general direction of Dad’s home office, where he’d undoubtedly be “relaxing” on his day off. Stiles shut the door behind him and rested against it, feeling a little winded.

In the back of his mind, he sort of noted that the vacuuming noises had stopped, but ignored it. He grabbed the water he’d left on the foyer earlier, and started gulping from it. After drinking about half the bottle, he paused to wipe his brow with the back of his wrist. In doing so, he also (finally) noticed the man standing off to his left in the living room.

The noise he made was a very, extremely manly squeak.

Stiles blinked at the man, studying him in some cross between shock and fascination. He was wearing a blue shirt that read “Hale & Sons” (Stiles was going to say Son, otherwise Hale might be breaking some child labor laws--he hardly looked older than some of Stiles’s college friends). His skin was tan and pale at the same time, how is that even a thing? His hair was dark, gelled up into a wave in the front in what Stiles usually attributed to a douchey jock (Jackson) but also looked really soft and touchable… And his eyes were like sea green with gold kind of and, oh my god.

Staring. Staring is a thing that is happening.

“Hellooo,” Stiles said, drawing out the sound as he shuffled towards the hallway that led to Dad’s study.

Hale seemed to realize that he’d also been staring, and immediately returned to vacuuming--kind of aggressively. Was it weird that Stiles was finding that a little bit attractive? Fuck, that’s really weird. The man’s muscles had muscles, and the way he was working ‘em--look, it was not Stiles’s fault the guy was a hot like burning.

Stiles poked his head into Dad’s office. “Hey! Back from my run. I’m gonna kick butt at cross-country this season, I did a mile in five and a half. It was awesome!”

“That’s great, Stiles,” Dad affirmed, shuffling some papers around and flipping a file closed. He sat back. “You smell like you worked hard.” The Sheriff crinkled his nose. “Maybe you can get into distance running this year.”

“Yeah, yeah, old man. You’re just jealous of my youthful energy,” Stiles joked, backing away from the doorway down the hallway. “I’ll take a shower in a minute… And maybe! Just gotta work on my stamina.”

When Stiles turned back around, grin still in place, Hale was rolling his eyes towards the heavens, his lips set in a tight line. Puzzled, Stiles headed up the stairs towards his room, eyes lingering on the hot cleaner as long as they could.

He grabbed his favorite pair of pajama pants, dark navy and crazy soft, as well as some boxer briefs and a grey shirt and threw them onto his desk. His room was still in a state of artful disarray (there was a system, ok? he knew exactly where everything was--sort of) so obviously Hale hadn’t made it upstairs yet. He suddenly had a moment of panic--dear God, where was the lube? The lube! he hid tucked it into a drawer out of sight--and then, eyeing the basket-full of used Kleenex realized it was a done deal. Hale was going to know he jerked it. Fuck. Welp.

Throwing his hands up in the air, he swept out of the room and into the bathroom. The hot water felt nice and relaxing against his muscles, and he groaned in appreciation. Looking down at the semi he was sporting, he whisper-yelled at it, “Down, boy! At least wait until he’s not in the same building as us!” His wash was perfunctory, and he ignored all the tingly as best he could.

Of course, when he stepped out of the shower, he realized his mistake--his towel was there, conveniently thrown over the bar, but his clothes… his clothes were sitting on his desk, still, where he’d tossed them earlier. Shiiit.

“Shiiit,” Stiles muttered under his breath, raking a hand through his wet hair. “Okay. Okay, I can sneak into my own room--that is not a problem.” He used the towel to ruffle his hair to dry with almost manic energy. Then Stiles wrapped the towel around his waist, tucking the end to stay put.

He tip-toed over to the bathroom door, poking his head out into the hallway to check it was clear. It looked clear. It was probably clear. And there was his door, all the way over there, closed. He could run down the hall and let himself in, and no one would ever know. That was a thing--and, running--he slammed the door behind him. Only to freeze when he noticed Hale staring at him, open-mouthed, holding a dirty sock.

“Ummm,” Stiles mumbled, feeling himself blush furiously. “I--just--clothes.” He and Hale both glanced over at the desk, where his clean clothes were bunched in a bundle.

“...Right,” Hale said, shuffling awkwardly in place. They continued to stare at one another a little more. “You’re, uh, in front of the door?”

“Oh!” Stiles exclaimed, throwing himself away from it and a little further into it. “Right. Sorry.” He brought a hand up to scratch the back of his neck, then turned it into a brush through his hair and, uh, how do arms work usually?

Hale started to edge around Stiles, like a five-foot radius was necessary at all times, a fierce blush high on his cheeks. His perfect, godlike cheekbones. Ugh. And that’s about the time that he noticed Hale’s eyes were a little bit glued to his body. I mean, Stiles worked out--he played lacrosse (kinda) and he ran cross-country, so he knew he had the whole “lithe, toned” thing going for him. He just honestly hadn’t noticed that anyone noticed.

Hale was definitely noticing.

So much so that he tripped over a pile of spilled paper, research that Stiles had been doing into Wendigos (don’t even ask--Humanities class was his favorite, okay?), and nearly lost balance. Stiles giggled helplessly, slapping a hand to his mouth to hold in the sound. Of course, the motion dislodged his towel’s precarious tuck, so he had to grab it before he gave Hale the full show.

Hale froze, eyes fixed to the skin that was now showing--the sparse beginnings of Stiles’s happy trail. Stiles’s breath stuttered on the inhale. Pretty seafoam eyes could, apparently, turn into lasers at will.

“Dude, I feel a little violated,” Stiles joked, trying to break the attention away from his pelvis before his dick got completely out of control. Hale’s face contorted into a grimace as he backed closer to the door.

“I’m so sorry,” Hale apologized, both hands coming up in a gesture of no-harm-done. His eyes were almost comically large.

“It’s--that was a joke,” Stiles replied, unconsciously taking a step forward.

“Um,” Hale said, eyes flicking off to the side, then back to Stiles as if completely unsure of how to respond. Stiles didn’t even know if there was a response, except maybe making out and possible hand jobs. He was really warming up to that idea. Like, very warm, oh my God, boner deploying--boner has lift-off.

Stiles licked his lips, watching Hale follow the motion of his tongue, and decided--fuck it. “Fuck it.” Hale quirked an eyebrow up. Stiles took another step forward. “What’s your name?”

“...Derek?” Hale made it sound like a question, but sure, Stiles would take it.

“Derek,” Stiles repeated, smirking. “Wanna give me a hand?” With his free hand, he gestured towards where the towel was doing absolutely nothing to hide his dick’s interest in the proceedings. Hale visibly gulped, a moment of indecision, before closing the distance between them in a few steps. He reached out, hand grasping Stiles through the towel.

Stiles groaned. He grabbed Derek’s shirt, tugging him along as he flopped back against his bed. He gasped as Derek settled on top of him, straddling his lap.

“Fuck, you’re hot,” Stiles murmured. His hands found the hem of Derek’s shirt and tugged it up and off, the older man passively allowing it. Instead, Derek was tracing his fingertips through the moisture collected in Stiles’s collarbones.

“Right back at you,” Derek said quietly. He leaned down to lick a stripe up the side of Stiles’s throat, nipping lightly at his jaw. Stiles was in a state of bliss, except… he fished a novel from where it had been poking into his back--Heart of Darkness.

“Conrad,” Derek remarked. “For one of your courses?” As he began to trail nips and licks down Stiles’s chest, his eyebrows spoke of challenge.

“Yeah, but I read Cry the Beloved Country all on my own,” Stiles replied, rolling his eyes. It turned into a helpless thing, his eyes rolling back as Derek mouthed at his cock through the thin material of the towel. “Okay, towel coming off. And your pants--definitely your pants, too.”

“So pushy,” Derek complained, pushing himself off the bed to slide off his jeans and boxer briefs in one go. Stiles’s breath caught at the sight of all of him--Derek had a beautiful shape, all muscles from broad shoulders to narrow waist. His dick curved up and slightly off to one side. Stiles wanted his mouth on it, immediately.

Derek seemed to have other plans, pushing Stiles back from where he’d half-sat up in preparation of his mouth on Derek’s cock. With their bodies aligned, it was easy to get friction between the two of them thrusting slightly. Hale reached between them, taking them both in hand, as they both continued to rut up against one another.

Stiles threw a hand up against his headboard, trying to get some leverage, and with the other he held onto Derek’s hip to urge him down, harder harder harder. He needed more and--fuck! Suddenly he thought of it, the lube he’d hidden away earlier.

“Whoa, ah, okay hold on,” Stiles panted. Derek stilled above him, biting his lip as he gazed down at Stiles. Stiles also realized that they hadn’t even kissed yet, what the hell. That needed fixing. So he leaned up, pressing his lips to Derek’s. They both leaned into it, bodies still. Derek sucked Stiles’s bottom lip lightly before releasing it. A bit dazed, Stiles pulled back and grinned. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Derek replied, flushing prettily with a small smile in response.

“Oh, lube,” Stiles said, remembering his original purpose. He fumbled with the bedside drawer, pulling out the half-used bottle and popping the top open. “Hand.” Derek raised an eyebrow but proffered his dominant right hand anyway. Stiles squirted a tiny lake of lubricant into Derek’s palm. “You may continue,” he allowed magnanimously. Derek looked unimpressed, but took both their cocks in hand once more.

Handjobs were like 100% better with kissing, Stiles decided, as they panted into one another’s mouths and moaned breathlessly. Derek liked to nip his bottom lip, then soothe the sting with his tongue. Stiles liked how their tongues touched and swirled, like dancing. He was toootally losing the thread of the handjob, actually, everything except how fucking good it felt.

Derek’s hand was more insistent now, picking up the pace. Stiles abandoned his hold of the headboard to wrap his own hand around Derek’s length. It was awkward maneuvering with the two of them but Derek didn’t seem to mind, as he moaned into the nape of Stiles’s neck.

As Derek twisted his palm around the top of Stiles’s cock, a frisson of lightning-strike white burst behind his eyes and he came unexpectedly. “Shit, sorry.” His grip tensed unconsciously.

“Stiles, Stiles, fuck,” Derek chanted, thrusting helplessly into the younger man’s hand. Stiles tried to vary the pressure, to do what Derek had done to him, and all of a sudden Derek was coming, shooting onto Stiles’s stomach with an almost painful-sounding cry. Stiles pumped him through his orgasm, letting go when Derek flopped down onto the bed to rest on his side.

They took a few moments to catch their breath, Stiles staring over at Derek in a sort of wondering disbelief that he’d just tapped that. Stiles Stilinski: non-virgin. But also, Derek was a little bit beautiful. Just a little, in the face area. The whole body, really, but a lot of the eyelash region. And maybe even the way only his front two bunny-teeth were visible when his lips were parted like…

Okay, so maybe Stiles had a problem. A slight infatuation with the random hook-up he’d just randomly had with his random cleaning service person.

“Um, I don’t usually do this sort of thing,” Stiles said, just to say something. “Just, so you know.”

“I didn’t think you did,” Derek said, blushing slightly and moving to prop his head up with one hand. “I do see your wastebasket, after all. That’s a lot of ‘personal time’ for someone who has actual sex with someone.”

“Oh, God,” Stiles groaned, covering his face with his hands, “let us never speak of it again. Those tissues were for my horrendous allergy problem and nothing else, ever.” Derek grinned in response, his nose crinkling sweetly and the corners of his eyes…”Date me. Or, do you want to, we could go out sometime?”

Derek’s grin intensified into full-on smile territory. “We could do that. What days are your courses?”

“Um, everyday?” Stiles responded, a little confused.

“Even Fridays?” Derek asked, both eyebrows raised.

“Dude, what high school did you go to that didn’t go to school on Fridays?” Stiles asked, rolling onto his side and mimicking Derek’s position.

“High school?” Derek all but squeaked, sitting up abruptly. He stared down at Stiles. “How old are you?”

“Seventeen? How old are you?” Stiles asked, incredibly confused about the line of questioning--oh wait, no, the age of consent in California is eighteen. That’s right. That’s a thing. His Dad’s the Sheriff, he should kn--HIS DAD IS THE SHERIFF. His Dad the Sheriff was DOWNSTAIRS! “Oh my God.”

“Oh my God,” Derek moaned in response, cradling his head in his hands. “I’m twenty-three! I thought you were in college!”

“What the fuck, dude? I was wearing my BHHS tank when I got home!” Stiles responded, in a panic.

“I didn’t notice. All I saw were the abs you were flashing me.”

“I still don’t understand why you thought I was in college,” Stiles whined, sitting up himself. “And also, how much of a problem do we think this is as far as, y’know, the dating?”

Derek glanced over at Stiles, worrying his lip between his teeth. Stiles sighed, reaching a hand out to smooth out the worry lines between Derek’s eyebrows and tugging him closer to press a soft, chaste kiss against his lips. Derek leaned into it for a moment, then back away to put some distance between them.

“This is gonna sound weird,” Derek finally said, playing with the edge of Stiles’s duvet.

“Probably, now that you pointed it out,” Stiles replied, scooting until their sides were pressed up together.

“I read some of your essays. They were just laying around, and I was cleaning them up anyway, so…” Derek paused, his blush intensifying. “I’m an English major, okay? I can’t help it--and they were really good, so, I thought you were in college.”

“Wow,” Stiles replied, “Yeah, you are such a huge, nerdy weirdo.” They both laughed, Derek self-consciously. “But I like it.”

“I liked you before I even met you,” Derek admitted. “You should think about majoring in English--seriously.”

“Nah, Criminal Justice is where it’s at,” Stiles replied easily, grabbing some tissues to wipe at the mess on his stomach. “But, hopefully you’ll have plenty of time to convince me otherwise.”

He grinned up at Derek, who was pulling his clothes back on. The older man paused, leaning down to press a kiss into Stiles’s lips.

“We can still go out,” Derek assured him, pulling his Hale & Sons t-shirt over his head. “Besides, we’ve already done enough to get me arrested.”

“Just a little,” Stiles wheedled, “a little bit arrested.” Derek eyed him in disapproval. “And what I meant by that was, my father would never do that--mostly because he knows I would stop cooking in protest and then we’d both starve.”

“You’re weird,” Derek laughed. “But I like it.”

“Good,” Stiles replied honestly, grinning. Then he reached out, slapping Derek’s ass playfully, as he called, “Now go clean my house, slave!” Derek flipped him off on the way out the door.

And if the Sheriff wondered why Stiles’s room took the longest to clean, well the boy needed all the help he could get!


End file.
